


In the name of humanity

by Greykite



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Goretober, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greykite/pseuds/Greykite
Summary: About the need for sacrifice and the involvement of the priest.
Kudos: 8





	In the name of humanity

**Author's Note:**

> AU in an undefined pre-Heresy timeline (discrepancies with the main outline of events are implied).
> 
> Basically, it's just a dream made written.

"You know that yourself, right." Lorgar's voice is soft. It has a deep resonance of sympathy: genuine, pure like a tear.

His brother is silent; in his silence, however, there is no resistance - at least it's not overt.

The light in the dimness of the hall - under a dome vaguely similar to the temple domes of Colchis - seems to come from both of them: the golden, enveloping radiance of one, and the opaque glow of the wings of the other.

"You are marked," Lorgar continues, just as gently, without judgment. "Sacrificial, as we called it."

Sanguinius' wings - stripped of even the most modest of ornaments here and now - flutter as they sweep the air. The lights of the candles, red and white, flicker around them, but they don't go out.

"Our father told you the same thing, didn't he?" Lorgar asks, even more quietly, even more carefully.

Sanguinius shakes his head. His words, instead of denial, sound like its opposite.

The edges of Lorgar's mouth twitch - that non-smile in his arsenal is sick and understanding at the same time.

"I see. We are supposed to understand a lot of things ourselves. Too much, maybe."

There is silence. In that utter silence, neither of the brothers breaks the line of sight.

"I know why we're here," Sanguinius finally says. "I wouldn't be here today if I had to be persuaded."

His gaze is sharp, though devoid of even a hint of suspicion or malice.

Lorgar tilts his head. He presses his hand to the golden tongue of flame embroidered on the chest of his austere gray robe.

"I deeply regret I had to be... a messenger." His lips twitch again, and Sanguinius smiles sadly and briefly in response: they both know the languages of ancient Terra, and the irony is not lost on them. "But there is something stronger than us. Neither you nor I can reject what we have experienced ourselves."

"And we can't accept it either." This is both a question and not a question at the same time. "I have never denied my own nature. Victory is not in denial, but in reining in."

"There are no gods in heaven, but we both know, right?.. There are forces to be reckoned with. You can call them 'Fate'."

"I know enough about fate," Sanguinius says. "The end is determined, it's true. But the choice of path is ours."

"Choice." Lorgar looks straight ahead, his lips no longer bear a smile. "In the name of humanity, someone must always make a choice. Sometimes it's the choice of the sacrifice. That's why you didn't come with it to Horus or Magnus, right?" However Lorgar can't hold on for too long: the smile softly flares up again, with both affection and annoyance. "They both would have convinced you that the warning signs don't mean anything. That the time hasn't come yet."

"My brothers are noble, and their hearts are full of love. But also full of pride."

"Pride doesn't allow them to imagine a different outcome until it's too late. Humility, on the other hand, makes you realize the limit of your own power."

A tear rolls down Sanguinius' cheek: lonely, it somehow seems like his eye bleeds, but that does not spoil the noble bronze-cast features.

"My sons will grieve," the Angel says heavily, lowering his wings. "But it's better than going mad and losing the right way, both for me and for them."

He looks at his brother, his blue-gray eyes as unreadable as the dark autumn sky.

He takes a stone knife from Lorgar's outstretched palm.

The golden fingers shudder at the contact, so hot is the Angel's skin, so much doom coursing through his veins.

Sanguinius takes a step back, then two steps. Lorgar follows him in this semblance of a ritual dance.

Sanguinius' chest rises and falls under the plain white robe - a little faster than usual, maybe. With his other hand, he pulls the veil from the altar platform - even this half-conscious gesture is full of grace.

Lorgar doesn't have to prompt any further: Sanguinius lowers his wings on either side of the altar and lowers his back on his own, raising the knife high. The air whistles.

And Lorgar catches the knife's hilt at the last moment, squeezing his fingers over Sanguinius', dark gold over marble whiteness.

The priest completes the blow.

This was the way of the ages; even before Colchis, under the young sun of Terra That Was; the Earth.

A simple blow to the heart would not have been enough to end the Primarch's life.

But this is not an ordinary blow - or ordinary knife.

The cursed obsidian flares up around the edges, touching the warp-infused blood of Emperor's spawn.

Lorgar leans on top of Sanguinius, holding the slick stone of the knife until he can no longer feel the convulsions that shake the body.

But the blood continues to flow. No prayer slows it down, and Lorgar stops trying. The main thing is completed.

Panting, he steps aside and looks from afar at the work of his hands - and his words.

The knife must be destroyed. Like the temple itself. Like the planet itself.

Later.

His hearts are counting eight beats. And eight more. And six.

Sacred numbers.

The wings, soaked through with blood - it is impossible, unthinkable, that even the Primarch has so much blood - move without any previous warning. The figure rises from the altar - rises above the altar, takes off with a heavy and ragged movement. It's shrouded in shadow and radiance at the same time: disturbing carmine and rusty gold are mixed in this otherworldly halo.

Lorgar's mouth opens in ugly and broken movement of face muscles, but for the first time, perhaps, in all his life, he - the prophet, the voice, the Word - cannot utter a sound.

A creature of blood and light - with a split chest, where the heart muscle shudders like a string (this is not the beat of life, this is the music that turns into blood) - reaches out to meet him.

"In the name of humanity," echoes a melodious angelic voice. "The choice is made. What will _you_ choose now?.."

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of my own work, as always.


End file.
